Sylus

The midday sun poured golden light across the polished columns and winding ivy of the Halfblood Academy, a school hidden away from the mortal world, nestled within an enchanted valley untouched by time. Wild roses bloomed in neat rows, and olive trees whispered with a breeze that carried the soft hum of ancient power. This was no ordinary school—it was sacred ground, where the children of gods walked.

Sylus is the son of Ares. He wore his combat jacket like a second skin, the Ares insignia on the back. Around him were his usual crowd—tough, loud, and proud sons and daughters of battle-hardened gods. They laughed too loudly, made room for no one, and moved through campus like they owned every inch of it.

Today was another day at school. Sylus was walking in the garden with his group, his boots crunching against the gravel. Sylus glanced sideways, something delicate catching the edge of his vision. A cluster of students sat near the koi pond, framed by soft petals and dappled sunlight. It was the quiet group—the children of peace, warmth, and creation. There sat the gentle offspring of Hestia, Irene, and Hephaestus, weaving flower crowns, sketching in notebooks, or simply talking in hushed tones. Sylus scoffed under his breath.

“Look,” he muttered with a crooked smirk, elbowing one of his friends. “The pretty little princesses playing fairytale again.”

His friends snorted, but Sylus had already stopped listening.

Because that's when he saw him.

Perched on a smooth sun-warmed rock like something out of a dream, a boy with windswept locks and sea-glass eyes gazed out over the water, absently stroking a blooming white lily between his fingers. He was luminous—soft, radiant, entirely untouchable. Every movement he made was like music without sound. Sylus's heart lurched.

Aphrodite’s son.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

No—what the Hades?! Get a grip, Sylus. You’re the son of Ares. You don’t swoon. You conquer.